Blessed with love
by fromoutoftherain
Summary: The photo I held in my hands I hid away, never really having the courage to display. It was far too soon for this, and even though it had already been two years since she was taken from me, my heart never stopped breaking. Nate/Miley. Oneshot.


**Hello there (:**

**Well it's been a while since you last heard of me, as I went to Germany and then I was too lazy to log on when I came back. I know, I'm a hobknocker (my latest insult, you'll understand if you watch iCarly)**

**I wrote this whilst listening to Angels by David Archuleta (Whom I love, by the way - he's amazing!)**

**Hope you like. I don't own Hannah Montana, Camp rock or any of it's characters/content. I also do not own Angels by David Archuleta, or David Archuleta himself (sadly...)**

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Tears strained my tired eyes as I gripped the picture in my hands, leaving tiny smudged fingerprints over the one of the last precious images of her beautiful face. She was perfect, angelic... her brunette curls hung around her love heart shaped face, and her eyes were softly closed. Her innocent, bright green eyes hiding bashfully, and though I wished I could stare into them, this visual image only made her picture more breathtaking. Her hands were folded into her lap delicately, just the way she always did when she was deep in thought or sad. She sat on the floor of the movie studio in her favourite pink party dress, and even though the photographer insisted she look sad, it made my heart hurt pitifully. Out of all the captivating pictures that photographer had taken, the simplest yet my favourite was taken with my very own digital camera. I'd been shouted at for ruining the shot with my camera flash, but it had been worth it.

The very same picture stood on the fireplace that night, as the flames flickered and danced. That was when we were sixteen, and since then I had become a withdrawn and tired man. My heart still ached for her almost every day, and at night I tried to stifle my sobs as people with lesser worries fell asleep to lullabies and story book endings that never seemed real. I almost felt like a terrible father to cushion my daughter this way, surround her with support when the world was a cruel and frightening place. The thing I loved had been ripped from my grasp once, and I hoped she'd never have to suffer the same fate as me.

The photo I held in my hands I hid away, never really having the courage to display. It was far too soon for this, and even though it had already been two years since she was taken from me, my heart never stopped breaking. We still lived in the same house, and her side of the bedroom remained untouched. Her perfume still sat on the beside table, her pearls still tucked away in a jewelry box in the drawer. Her favourite pink dress hung in the wardrobe, like a reccuring, painful memory. Her guitar still stood alone in the corner, gathering dust. It felt almost rude to touch it now, disturbing and disrupting all the happy times she'd spent singing with her favourite instrument with my own tainted memory of her abrupt death.

Music was a constant companion in our household, and wherever she worked... she sang. She sang whilst cooking, she sang whilst cleaning...and in the early stages of our daughters life she would sing her to sleep. She would wake me up, singing 'Good morning Sunshine' in my ear, and I remember how the day after there was no singing to wake me... and how painfully empty the bed felt without her. If it wasn't for my little girl, maybe I'd never had moved at all. Without my love, did life ever have meaning? I knew the answer was yes. I knew she would have wanted to give Bella the best life I could... and I was determined to follow her wishes.

A voice whispered across the room, breaking the silence and frightening me ever so slightly. I wiped the tears from my eyes as little Isabella crossed the room, clutching the fabric of my jeans. Placing the picture down carefully, I picked up my blessed baby girl... growing up and leaving her father behind way too fast. At the delicate age of five, Bella was amazingly wise to the world. She accepted the fact her Mommy was gone with a heavy heart, and as I and her Uncles tried to bring her up best we could she never once complained, she never thre w a single temper tantrum. Bells was good in school, polite to all the other children. When we showed up at parents evening the teachers would look sideward as I arrived clutching her tiny hand, no mother figure beside us. She'd smile and boast about little things such as how she loved music, and it would make my heart clench.

Bella was like her mother in so many ways. She had her eyes, her face and her love for all things musical.

"Is that Mommy?" she asked carefully, brushing the brunette curls from her own face and stroking the picture carefully with the pads of her fingers, even she seemed to understand to be careful with this delicate flashback into my past.

"That's Mommy, she was sixteen then" I said, almost smiling as I recalled the day.

"She was very pretty" Bella paused for thought "I can't wait to be sixteen, I'll be a big girl then... and uncle Shane will never tease me again"

"Don't grow up too fast on me kiddo" I whispered solemnly.

I silently dreaded the day my sweet Bella would start to ask questions about her Mother's tragic death, and I had to protect her even more from the dangers of the world. I knew some time she'd have to grow up and leave, but I so wished she wouldn't.

"What did you call her, Daddy?" Bella asked pleadingly, though she'd heard the story a million times.

"Little Miss Miley sunshine" I said, a soft smile lingering across my face.

That night was filled with whirlwind stories, and after Midnight the scrap book eventually came out, covered in dust and un-disturbed since Miley's passing. It held many happy photos, and Bella was filled with glee when she saw herself as a tiny child in her Mother's pale skinned arms. That night my girl fell asleep, hugging my favourite picture of Miley to her chest.

I slept well that night, knowing for once my love was at peace with the angels, and our own little angel was safe with me.


End file.
